


Until We Meet Again

by Exquisitepanda



Series: Until We Meet Again [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, John Winchester does his best (but still kinda fucks it up sometimes), M/M, Moments of angst, Slow Build, bittersweet memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exquisitepanda/pseuds/Exquisitepanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the Starbucks in all the cities in all the world, he walks into this one…</p><p>It has been seven years since Castiel Novak last saw or spoke to Dean Winchester. So when he sees the other man at a Starbucks, he feels compelled to speak to him. But is Dean as open to reconnecting after all these years?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take Me As You Found Me

Castiel Novak almost choked on his chai latte when he saw the man.

It had been so many years since they had seen each other. And surely it was impossible that he would be here, in a Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon in Scottsdale, Arizona. At first, he had thought it a trick of the light, or a case of mistaken identity, or a misfire of the brain. But that hair, the color of wet sand; that chiseled jaw, pebbled with perpetual dark stubble; those pouty, pink lips that curled into a boyish smile that made him seem younger than his years...

There was no denying it; it was definitely him. Castiel would always be able to recognize him, no matter how much he tried to forget the face.

Though his brain was telling him to leave it alone, to write the sighting off and leave the cafe without drawing attention to himself, Castiel found his legs carried him toward the familiar figure. Before he could stop his mouth from moving, he said, “Dean?”

The man turned his head to face him, and Castiel was greeted with peaceful green eyes. Eyes that he could draw from memory, that he had stared into countless times so many years ago. There was a brief flash of confusion that was quickly replaced with recognition and a fair amount of uncertainty.

“Castiel?” Dean asked, his voice betraying surprise.

Castiel smiled shyly but did not dare look away. “Hey. It’s been awhile.”

Dean nodded, chuckling softly. “Yeah, the better part of a decade.” He swallowed, and Castiel could not help but notice the reservation written so clearly in the lines of the other man’s body. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been well, thank you,” Castiel replied. He had always hated small talk—mainly because he had never been very good at it—but he was willing to push forward this time. He had to. “How are you?”

“Good,” Dean said with a polite twitch of his lips. Castiel briefly recalled their softness and warmth, but the thought was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Keepin’ busy, like ya do. You still teaching?”

“Yeah, at Santa Dena High School, over in Paradise Valley.”

“Oh.” Surprise was clearly reflected in his green eyes. “Good gig?”

“I like it,” Castiel nodded. “The kids are bratty and lazy, but I suppose that’s par for the course in high school.”

Dean laughed, his true smile making a brief appearance before his lips set back into their previous reservation. Castiel had forgotten how much he had missed seeing that smile. Before he could lose himself in his thoughts anymore, the barista called Dean’s name. The younger man reached over the counter to retrieve his drink, which was in a nondescript white cup bearing the Starbucks logo. It was covered, so Castiel was not sure what the contents might be. When they had known each other, Dean had been fond of café au laits, but for all Castiel knew he took his coffee black now. Maybe he had switched to tea.

“Yeah,” Dean continued, not noticing Castiel’s drifting mind as he took a sip from his cup. “You get them right as they’re in the middle of the ‘awkward teen’ phase. But as long as they don’t give you any shit…”

“No, they’re good kids,” Castiel replied with a chuckle. “For the most part, anyway. What about you? Last I saw you, you had just started a job as a…criminalist, right?”

“Yep. Spent a few years in Chicago at the Forensic Science Center, then got a good offer from the Phoenix Crime Lab and headed out here."

“So you’re like those guys on  _CSI_  now?” Castiel teased.

Dean laughed heartily at that. “Basically. Except I don’t carry a gun, or interrogate suspects, or leave the lab pretty much at all.”

Castiel laughed earnestly in return. A few moments later, once their laughter had died down, they stood before each other in somewhat comfortable silence. Dean had shifted back on his feet, appearing more at ease than when Castiel had first approached him.

“You probably have to get on your way,” Castiel began, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Would you mind if I got your number? Maybe we can meet up some time… get coffee or something.”

A strange look crossed Dean’s face—quickly enough that Castiel would not have noticed it had he not been staring so intently at the other man—and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “All right,” he replied cautiously. “Let me put it into your phone.”

Castiel took his cell phone out of his back pocket and handed it to Dean. Castiel blushed as Dean palmed the device and began typing out his phone number and name. Castiel had never really thought much about his phone, but most of his students had iPhones, making his two-year-old Samsung Galaxy look a bit unfashionable. Still, it was functional, and Castiel did not use it all that much anyway.

“Hit me up sometime,” Dean said as he handed the phone back to Castiel.

“Thanks, I will,” Castiel nodded. “See you later.”

“Later.” Dean tipped his head forward in goodbye as he headed toward the door and out into the bright, mid-September sunlight.

 

* * *

 

Seeing Castiel again after almost a decade had been strange, to put it mildly. After parting ways seven years ago, he had written off the idea of ever seeing the older man again. The chances of running into him had been greater when Dean still lived in Chicago and Castiel taught in one of the suburbs, yet it had never happened. But now, 1,800 miles away from their hometown? The odds were nearly impossible.

And yet, there Castiel had been, sipping a drink in a Starbucks in Scottsdale and talking to him like an old friend. Dean had given the man his number, in spite of himself, because it seemed the most polite thing to do. It was not as though Castiel would actually try to contact him, after so many years spent silent. Dean had already been down that road, remembered the disappointment well.

So it had been even stranger when he received several text messages from Castiel three days later.

At the end of an uneventful shift, Dean had opened his locker and taken out his iPhone. There were more messages than usual, but nothing too far outside the ordinary. There was one from Charlie, saying she was going to be spending the night at Lilah’s; one from Sam, inquiring about his day; a couple from Benny, responding to Dean’s texts sent during his lunch break; and three from an unknown number. He had responded to the other messages as he walked out to his car, saving the unknown for last. As he slipped into the black 1967 Chevrolet Impala he had driven since high school—and was grateful still functioned well so many years later—he finally glanced at the messages.

_4:37 PM_

_Hello Dean. This is Castiel._

_Sorry about contacting you so late. Work has been busy!_

_Are you free Saturday afternoon? We could meet up for coffee._

A knot formed in Dean’s stomach, clenching so tightly he thought he might throw up. He swallowed hard, willing his stomach to settle. A flurry of emotions washed over him: confusion at the forefront, followed closely by anxiety, and tinted with a twinge of anger and hurt that Dean had presumed disappeared long ago.

Four hours later, in the comfort of his home in Tempe, he reclined on the black leather couch in the living room and stared at the messages for the hundredth time. He had yet to send a reply. Try as he might, he could not seem to form a response. With a growl of frustration, he closed out the messages and tossed the phone toward his feet, which were propped up on the armrest at the other end of the couch. He threw his head back against the armrest behind him and ran his right hand through his short, sandy blonde hair. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift aimlessly, not even a bit surprised when it took turns down uncomfortable and depressing paths.

It had taken Dean a couple of years to get to a place where Castiel did not occasionally pop into his head without provocation. Yet he had done it, through sheer power of will. He knew that he would carry a part of the man with him forever—such was the burden of a first love—but for some time thoughts of Castiel had entered his mind at  _his_  discretion. They usually came as a result of someone else’s inquiry, and they had long ago ceased to inspire any heartache. It had been easy enough, especially since they were not in contact. It was frightening to realize that the walls he had built so carefully around that part of his life could crumble so easily with just a few words.

Before his thoughts could turn too much darker, Dean heard the locks of the front door disengaging. Heavy boots shuffled through the entryway, getting progressively louder as their owner approached the living room. Dean saw the black, military style hat before he saw the rest of his roommate.

“Hey, man,” Benny greeted with a weary smile.

“Hey,” Dean replied, head still tilted back against the armrest.

"Charlie home?"

"No, she's staying over at Lilah's tonight."

"Ah." Benny removed his hat and ran a hand over his short, golden blonde hair. Looking down at Dean for a moment, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Dean let out a dark chuckle. “Got a couple of hours?”

He felt Benny’s weight dip the couch beside his feet. Dean opened his eyes and lifted his head to see the other man considering him, concern written clearly in his fair blue eyes. “What’s up?” Benny asked again.

Dean sighed in resignation. The two of them had been friends long enough for him to know that Benny did not let go of things lightly, at least where they concerned the people he cared about. He could dodge the question all he wanted, but Benny would get it out of him in the end.

Dean lifted himself up and pulled his legs into a sitting position at the opposite end of the couch. He stared down at his tube sock-covered feet. “I ran into Castiel on Saturday.”

Benny’s eyes widened, his lips pressing together in a taught line. He ran his left hand over the short beard that lined his chin and cheeks. “Shit, man.”

“Pretty much,” Dean nodded.

“Here in Phoenix?” Benny did not try to hide his astonishment.

“Yeah, at the Starbucks at Thomas and Scottsdale.” Dean shook his head. “He teaches at a high school in Paradise Valley.”

“Woah…” Benny splayed his hands out in front of him. He opened his mouth a couple of times, as if wanting to say something but deciding against it. Finally, he settled on, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dean shrugged. “I didn’t really process it. I was too shocked from seeing him, and I kind of just shut it away.”

Benny nodded, offering comfort even if he could not fully understand the feelings. A brief period of silence passed between them, both men looking severely at floor, caught up in their own thoughts.

Dean was the first to break the silence, “He wants to have coffee on Friday.”

Benny’s eyes went even wider, in direct defiance with the bounds of human physicality. “You saw him  _again_?”

“No,” Dean shook his head, “I gave him my number when we ran into each other, and he sent me a text. Several, actually.”

“You gave him your number?” Benny was incredulous.

“He asked for it. I didn’t think he’d actually use it.”

“Fair enough,” Benny replied. He ran his right hand along the top of his head. “Are you going to see him?”

Dean sighed, throwing his head back against the armrest and covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I don’t know, man. I mean, I’m kind of curious to see him again...”

“ _But_?” Benny eyed his best friend, knowing there was more to the thought.

“ _But_ … I don’t know,” Dean admitted, sitting up again and returning his eyes to focus on his socks. “Maybe he just wants to get coffee and chat, reconnect after all these years.”

“You don’t sound entirely convinced,” Benny pointed out.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a low chuckle. “Enough time has passed, I think I’ll be all right. But it just feels… weird.”

“I get that.” Benny placed his right hand on top of Dean’s thigh and squeezed gently. “Well, whatever you choose, man, I’ll be here to listen. But be careful, hear?”

“Thanks,” Dean replied with a grateful smile. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel went through the motions of getting ready for bed. He normally enjoyed his nighttime routine, particularly the showers. He reveled in the warm water sliding over his skin and wrapping him in a steamy cocoon. He also enjoyed the way his voice sounded as it bounced off the slick tile—bathrooms had such flattering acoustics. Tonight, however, his mind was elsewhere, sucking much of the joy out of showering and the rest of his nightly tasks.

He rested his head against the tile wall beneath the shower head, barely registering the sluice of water down his back. He had not necessarily expected Dean to respond immediately to his messages. After all, it had taken him several days just to send the things out after their impromptu meeting on Saturday. And the man had a life—he had a career, probably a group of friends that he liked to see after work, maybe a lover that preoccupied his nights…

That last thought sent a cold twinge through his stomach. He did not necessarily want to rekindle anything with Dean, but what if Dean had gotten that impression? Coffee was something a lot of people did as a first date, right? What if Dean was seeing someone and thought Castiel was trying to ask him out? Maybe he was taking so long to respond because he was trying to think of the best way to turn him down. Maybe he would never respond in order to avoid any sort of confrontation.

Castiel chided himself for sending the invitation in the first place. It had been stupid to even ask for Dean’s number. They had not seen or spoken to each other in seven years, and probably never would have again had it not been for that fateful reunion at Starbucks. But Castiel had been so surprised to see the man again, to find out that he was living in the same city as he was; it had seemed like a great idea at the time.

He turned off the shower and wrapped himself in a large, blue terrycloth towel. Stepping up to the large mirror in front of the twin sinks, he wiped away some of the steam that clung to the reflective glass with his hand. His deep blue eyes stared back at him, slightly accusing.

“You’re an idiot, Castiel,” he reprimanded his mirror image. With a sigh, he opened the bathroom door, allowing steam to billow out into the hallway. He padded, barefoot, into the bedroom, Byron following closely at his heels. Byron slipped along his left ankle as he shut the door, beads of moisture slicking onto the cat’s long, white hair. While Castiel went about toweling himself off, Byron hopped up onto the queen-sized bed in the center of the room, curling up on a far corner of the emerald comforter and staring at his master with impassive, amber eyes.

A glance at the clock on the nightstand informed Castiel that it was almost midnight. He sighed, deciding there was no use stewing in anticipation anymore for the night. He tossed the towel onto the bed and headed to the oak dresser opposite the bed, slipping on a fresh pair of hunter green boxer briefs when his phone chimed. He belatedly recognized the sound as his text message notification. Feeling a little thrill of excitement, he hurried over to the nightstand and grabbed the device from its seat, quickly glancing at the incoming message.

Castiel’s breath hitched in his throat when he saw Dean’s name at the top of the message window.

_11:57 PM_

_I’m free Saturday. 3:00PM work for you?_


	2. Greenfield High School Football Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spite of his wariness, Dean meets with Castiel over coffee. He is surprised to find has a pretty good time as they talk about their shared past. He is even more surprised when Castiel asks to see him again the following week.
> 
> Also: The first time Dean met Castiel.

_Then_

Dean stared out over the Greenfield High School soccer field. The rich, wet smell of fresh cut grass wafted into his nostrils, eliciting that familiar feeling of excitement and freedom. It had been almost a month since he had first stepped onto the grass as a potential candidate for the boys’ junior varsity soccer team, several weeks before the start of his freshman year of high school.

Dean had killed at try-outs. Not surprisingly, as he had been playing soccer since kindergarten and seemed to have a natural talent for the game. He had initially found it a delightful escape from the bullshit of his home life during elementary school and most of junior high. Life was better now—his father had been sober for almost two years and his younger brother, Sam, required less of his watchful eye—but soccer still offered that wonderful freedom that allowed the rest of the world and all of its trappings to fall away. He was sure he would make the team; he had been the best player out there, at least among the incoming freshman. Yet he was completely unprepared for the coach approaching him after try-outs and offering him a spot on the varsity team.

While not completely unheard of, it was rare for a freshman to make it to the varsity squad, even as a second tier member. Dean knew he was good at the game—his varsity placement further proof of that fact—but it was still intimidating having to practice with upperclassmen. What would they think of him? Would they make fun of his size? Would they haze him for being so young?

For the first time in his life, he found himself daunted by the locker room. He was the shortest member of the team by a good four inches, and definitely the scrawniest by ten or so pounds. It was going to be weird, changing and showering with older boys who probably had chest hair and shaved more than once a month.

The field was practically empty, spare for a collection of soccer balls lined up along the west side of the field near the varsity and junior varsity soccer coaches. Dean took one last lungful of late August air before turning to head into the boys’ locker room. Despite his anxiety, he knew he would do well in high school, both on and off the field. He turned his head up in an almost cocky position, pulling his lips wide into his signature, heart-melting grin.

 

* * *

 

_Now_

“I thought you were going to piss yourself, you were so scared!” Dean roared, shutting his eyes to quell the tears that had begun to build up. His lungs ached from laughing too hard.

“Of course I was scared!” Castiel retorted with a giggle. “I was sure we would get caught, and we’d get arrested, and I would never be able to go to college with a felony on my record!”

“Breaking and entering is only a felony if there’s intent to commit a crime,” Dean replied, smiling broadly. “At best, we were trespassing, which is a misdemeanor.”

“Well, _I_ didn’t know that at the time!”

“I kept _telling_ you we’d be fine.”

“Hey, just because your dad was a cop didn’t make you a legal scholar,” Castiel said, eyes twinkling from laughter.

Dean shrugged. “I knew enough to know what I could get away with. Besides, you were a first-time offender, you probably would have gotten off with a warning.”

“How is your father, anyway?” Castiel inquired, changing the subject.

“He’s good,” Dean replied, smiling softly to himself. “Still a detective, looking forward to retirement in a few years. Though I’m not sure what he’ll do with himself—he’s been a cop for so long, I’m not sure he knows how to do anything else.”

Castiel nodded, remembering the older Winchester from their handful of brief encounters. John was a nice enough man, albeit a little rough around the edges, and seemed honestly proud of Dean’s achievements, even if he was not completely on board with the choices he made in life. “I’m sure he’ll find something to do with his time.”

“It won’t be for a while yet, so I’m not worried,” Dean shrugged. “Is your father still teaching at UIC?”

“Yes, still going strong. I think he’d rather die than give up his work.”

“Well, with tenure, that’s not out of the question,” Dean replied, grinning.

Castiel laughed. “I suppose, though if he starts showing up to office hours in a bathrobe, the department may push for him to consider an extended sabbatical.”

Dean joined in with Castiel’s laughter, and for a brief moment Castiel was struck with how wonderful the sound of their combined laughter was. In the past, it had come so easy for them—Dean always quick with a joke, Castiel responding with a witty retort. He mused over the idea that they may be able to reach that point again.

Castiel thought his face must have given something away, as Dean’s brow furrowed. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Castiel lied with a nod, waving away the heart-wrenching notion with his hand. “Just remembering that time you and Joshua posted those illicit pictures on the outside of every window on the second floor of the high school.”

Dean howled, recalling the prank. “Oh, yeah! I thought for sure we’d be found out, but we got away with it.”

“I’m still amazed you were able to climb up to the second level outside windows without a ladder.”

“That was actually the easiest part, overall,” Dean chuckled. “Getting all of those magazines— _that_ was difficult!”

“How many porno mags did you end up buying again?”

Dean leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, thinking deeply on the subject. “About two hundred, in all. Some we already had, the rest we had to buy. But we couldn’t buy them all in one store—that would have looked suspicious.”

“Of course,” Castiel nodded solemly.

“So, every week for three months, we both would go to three or four different stores and buy two magazines at a time. Once we had enough, all we had to do was stick them to the windows.”

“That’s a lot of planning for a prank.”

“It was worth it,” Dean smiled wickedly. “Especially since some of the pictures were still stuck to the windows when I graduated. Crazy Glue's amazing stuff.”

Castiel almost fell out of his chair when Dean wiggled his eyebrows provocatively.

 

* * *

 

_Then_

Dean leaned slightly into his open locker, exhausted but trying to hide the fact by pretending to look inside the metal contraption for some hidden item. At this afternoon’s practice, the coach had worked him harder than any previous coach. Dean knew his muscles would be howling at him tomorrow. He silently prayed to no deity in particular that he would be able to hold himself together at the next practice.

It was slightly reassuring that other members of the team looked to be as worked over as he felt. He had not been the only boy panting on the field. It was the first practice of the season, yet Coach McIntire had not held back. That gave Dean confidence; only a coach who thought his team lacked potential went easy on his players. McIntire clearly knew they were capable of performing every drill he forced them to run again and again. Even though the Greenfield Titans had not won a state championship in at least a decade, their coach worked them as though they stood a chance this year.

Maybe they did, Dean thought with a small smile. What little he had seen of his fellow teammates, he had liked. He was eager to get to know them better, to work with them and, at the very least, dominate at the sectional finals in November. It was something to look forward to, anyway.

Dean was broken away from his musings by a calm baritone that sounded closer than he thought anyone had been standing. Looking up from his locker, Dean was met by dark, contemplative eyes set into a gentle face. “Huh?”  he asked, having not heard a word the older boy had said.

“I asked if you were the freshman,” the boy replied. He was in the middle of undressing, and Dean noticed long, toned arms that led into a lean chest peppered with short, black curls. His shorts rode low bony hips that jutted forward.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, half-expecting the confrontation he had played over in his head a thousand times.

“I can see why McIntire pulled you onto varsity,” the other boy said with a gentle smile. “You look like you were born to play the game.”

Dean felt a blush rising in his cheeks. He turned his face back toward the locker, knowing the red of his ears gave him away. “Thanks,” he muttered, more embarrassed than flattered.

“I’m Joshua,” the boy continued, holding a hand out over the top of the locker door.

Dean tilted his head to look back at Joshua, at the large hand with long, sure fingers that waited patiently for his own hand to greet it.

“Dean,” Dean responded, grasping Joshua’s surprisingly warm hand. “I look forward to playing with you this season.”

“You too,” Joshua smiled, taking back his hand and continuing his changing routine.

 

* * *

 

_Now_

“This was fun,” Dean said, and he had to admit that it was the truth. Though he was connected to his friends from high school thanks to the wonder of Facebook, it had been a long time since he had reminisced about with anyone who had actually been there for part of it. Though high school had generally been pleasant, it had been a time of overwhelming emotional turmoil for him. He had felt pulled apart, doing his duty to meet the expectations of his father, his brother, his friends, his coach, his teachers—everyone except for himself. He did not hate his high school experience, but he would be damned if he had to do it all over again.

Dean more surprised to find that he had actually enjoyed spending time with Castiel. In spite of his fears, they had managed to talk comfortably, without bringing up anything particularly depressing from their shared past. It had been easy, even, as though he and the older man had been talking together like this for years.

That did not mean Dean was not suspicious, however. What was Castiel playing at? He briefly recalled his own attempt, years ago, to try and reconnect with Castiel after running into him at a party held by a mutual friend neither man knew he shared. Castiel had essentially blown him off, rejecting the outstretched olive branch that Dean had worked up so much courage to offer. The thought crossed Dean’s mind to return the gesture in kind, to respond with silence and leave Castiel to wonder why Dean wanted nothing to do with him. Yet here he stood, in the parking lot of the very Starbucks where, earlier that week, they had crossed paths for the first time in seven years, facing Castiel and smiling without feeling self-conscious.

Dean had to admit it was pretty weird. Even so, he put the thought out of his mind before it started to show on his face and give his suspicion away.

“Yeah,” Castiel nodded, smiling that crooked smile he always got when he was feeling content. Dean was surprised he could still remember such a small quirk about the man after all this time. “We should do it again.”

“I’d like that,” Dean replied. “Let me know when you’d like to get together again.”

“How about next Saturday? Same time, same place?”

 _That_ shocked Dean more than anything else about the afternoon. He had assumed Castiel would want to part ways for good after this meeting. Apparently not.

“Uh, sure,” Dean shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck the way he did whenever he felt uncomfortable. He secretly hoped Castiel would not remember the gesture. “Yeah, I think I can swing that."

“Okay.” The smile Castiel gave him would have melted Dean’s heart, were he not feeling so on edge. The other man seemed legitimately happy, his blue eyes twinkling in the dimming light of the early evening.

Dean found it more curious than anything else.

“I’ll see you next Saturday then,” Dean said, turning toward the north end of the parking lot and moving toward his car.

“See you then,” Castiel agreed, heading off in the direction of his own vehicle.

Dean turned to look back for a moment, watching the other man stroll toward the opposite end of the parking lot. It had been a while since he had watched him walk, but Dean could have sworn there was a slight bounce in Castiel’s step. And he was certain he heard the clip of some unknown tune, whistled low and lilting.

Turning back toward the direction of Baby, Dean shook his head, but was unable to shake the small smile tugging at his lips.

 

* * *

 

_Then_

Dean stepped up gingerly to the dark screen that masked a light oak door. He could hear clips of voices coming from inside the house, though the blinds were drawn, making him unable to see who was speaking. If he had to be honest with himself, he was nervous. Joshua had said it would only be a small group of friends, but that kind of made it worse. Were it a raging high school party, with his classmates imbibing copious amounts of liquor to the strains of loud, thumping music, Dean thought he might have a chance to maintain his “cool” façade. He was no stranger to alcohol—his father had left enough half-empty bottles around the house for him and his friends in junior high to steal a nip or two—and he knew he was attractive enough to at least approach any attractive girl without getting a drink thrown in his face. And with the loud music drowning out the possibility of intimate conversation, no one would figure out he was a bit of a nerd and very insecure. A small gathering of strangers? This was his nightmare.

Dean swallowed the lump forming in his throat, willed the anxiety bubbling in his stomach to settle enough for him to at least speak his greetings clearly. He rang the doorbell, overcome with awkwardness when the conversation inside stopped and the shuffling of sneakers approached the door.

Maybe if he turned and ran now, they would think some punk kid Ding-Dong-Ditched? He could call Joshua when he got home, faking illness, and give his regrets about being unable to make it over. Dean knew he could run pretty fast, especially with the right motivation—

“Hey, Dean!” Joshua greeted him from the other side of the screen. The older boy opened the screen enough to let Dean slip inside, but not so much that the beagle snuffling at his feet could dash out into the street.

“Hey, Joshua,” Dean replied with a weak smile. He glanced into the front room, where everyone had gathered in front of a large television that was currently playing the highlights of White Noise Theatre. Dean’s eyes watched the manic dance of the white and black of the static, thinking momentarily of  _Poltergeist_.

Set facing the television were a matching couch and loveseat, both upholstered in the same hunter green fabric that was well-worn on the arm rests. There were four people in the room, all of whom looked at Dean appraisingly. Two girls were seated on the couch, both with long brown hair—though the smaller of the two had a lighter shade—and blue eyes—though the larger of the two had a darker hue. A boy was sitting on the loveseat, with the darkest brown hair of those sitting, and another boy—the only blonde of the group, Dean noted—was sprawled on the ground in front of the couch.

“Guys, this is Dean,” Joshua introduced him. “Dean, this is Hallie, Hannah, Alfie, and Castiel.”

The group waved their greetings as Dean awkwardly waved back. Hannah, the larger of the girls, seemed unimpressed with the newcomer, her deep blue eyes reflecting their disinterest. Hallie seemed a lot more receptive—her light blue eyes twinkled as she smiled up at Dean. Dean flashed what he loving referred to as his “Get Some” grin, showing just enough teeth and casting his eyes down just so to reflect his boyish charms. He was pleased when a pink hue rose up in Hallie’s cheeks, and she quickly cast her attention down to the floor. Alfie had spared him a cursory glance, pale blue eyes quickly looking him over without really giving him much thought, before returning to whatever was keeping his attention on the floor. Castiel, meanwhile, seemed to be considering Dean more so than the rest of the group, his piercing, dark blue eyes taking their time absorbing any and all information they could gather on him. The look made Dean’s stomach clench, made him feel as though he were standing naked in his friend’s living room.

Joshua clasped him on the shoulder, breaking him from his wayward thoughts. “Since you’re the newest member, you get to choose what we watch first.”

Dean nodded, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He quickly glanced over at Castiel, who seemed to now be watching Alfie doing whatever it was he was doing. From where he stood, Dean still could not tell what the hell the boy was doing down there. “What are my options?” he asked, glad his voice was steadier than he felt.

Castiel rose from his place on the loveseat and strode over to the television to pick up three VHS tapes that had been sitting on top of the VCR. Dean was struck with how lithe the other boy was, and figured him for a runner. He seemed to be about the same height as Joshua, which meant he was a couple of inches taller than Dean. When Castiel spoke, his voice was deeper than Dean had thought it would be. “We have _The Legend of Boggy Creek_ , _Monster a-Go Go_ , and _The Final Sacrifice_.”

Dean blinked in response, confusion clearly written across his face. “I have never heard of _any_ of those,” he said, his voice apologetic.

Castiel smiled. “Basically, your choice of monsters are: Sasquatch, Radioactive Astronaut, or Alien-Worshipping Cult.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I guess I’ll have to go with the Sasquatch.”

“Good choice,” Alfie nodded, flashing Dean a wide smile.

“Grab a seat,” Joshua said, motioning Dean into the living room. “I’ll get the popcorn. Cas, do you mind starting up the tape?”

“Sure,” Castiel nodded, placing the two rejected tapes back on top of the VCR.

“What do you like to drink?” Joshua asked Dean as he turned toward the kitchen.

“Whatever’s on tap,” Dean replied, watching from the corner of his eyes as Castiel removed  _The Legend of Boggy Creek_ from its cardboard slip and slid the tape into the VCR.

Joshua shrugged and headed into the kitchen. Hallie followed him, presumably to help him carry out the snacks and drinks.

Dean stood, feeling like an idiot, in between the couch and the loveseat. He looked over at the couch, where Hannah sat in the middle and was paying him as little attention as she could. He turned to face the loveseat, where Castiel had resumed his position on the left. Dean was unsure of where Joshua was going to sit, and he did not want to steal his new friend’s seat while he was preparing food. So he remained standing, unsure of where to go.

“I won’t bite,” Castiel said, sensing the struggle within Dean. His blue eyes glinted as he smiled. “Promise.”

Dean chuckled, nodding his understanding and taking a seat on the right side of the loveseat. “What if I like biting?” he replied with a smirk.

Castiel laughed, a low, lilting tenor that made Dean feel twenty pounds lighter. “Well, in that case, I may have to amend my promise.”

Though he laughed at the comment, Dean felt his ears growing hot. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his black and white Chuck Taylors. He was filled with immense relief when Joshua and Hallie came back into the living room, carrying two bowls of popcorn, a bag of nacho cheese-flavored Doritos, and several cans of Pepsi. He focused his attention on the screen, watching as the green “G” rating screen bled into black and greeted the darkened living room with the words “THIS IS A TRUE STORY.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to update, but I'll make it up to any of you still hanging on. Promise!
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from a song by The Ataris, “San Dimas High School Football Rules,” from the album Blue Skies, Broken Hearts…Next 12 Exits. [The original line (the one that inspired the song) comes from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.].
> 
> The lyrics I had in mind when I came up with the title for this chapter (and subsequently wrote it):  
> “Today I woke up alone  
> Wishing you were here with me”  
> and  
> “Today you called me up  
> And said you’d see me at our show  
> But now I’m stuck debating  
> If I even want to go”
> 
> Feel free to bug me on Tumblr! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/exquisitedeadpanda

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing Supernatural fanfiction, so I hope you all enjoy it. I will try to update regularly, but I apologize in advance if I slip up a bit. No "beta," all mistakes are my own damn fault.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the Anberlin song “Take Me (As You Found Me),” from the album Dark Is The Way, Light Is A Place. If you’ve never listened to the song, look it up (and Anberlin in general—they’re amazing). If you’re not up to it right now, consider these lyrics:  
> “Take me as you found me  
> …Or leave me to die  
> Leave me wanting  
> …The rest of your life”
> 
> Feel free to bug me on Tumblr! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/exquisitedeadpanda


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